


Good Luck, Goodbye

by Maesonry



Series: Daybreaker [2]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-09 18:32:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maesonry/pseuds/Maesonry
Summary: “It’s gonna be okay,” you whispered, an empty comfort, a false reassurance, “you’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”You were going to die. But Dwight Fairfield was going to live.





	1. Chapter 1

You were going to die.

You knew this, as you stumbled through the cornfield, shoving the stalks out of the way and feeling the blood slip through your fingers. The dragging cry of your teammate being hooked, echoing across the entire area, digging into your skull and burrowing into your heart. You were going to die here, and so was everyone else.

Your footing slipped slightly, but you caught yourself, and finally slumped down behind a decrepit hay bale. It smelled like rot, but too musty, too sweet- as if someone had forgotten what it should’ve really smelled like.

Not someone. Something. It.

A cough beside you. With a frantic motion, you looked over, as if the Trapper was there and you hadn’t noticed and now you were most assuredly going to die-

But no. Not him. He was in the basement, likely sizing up his... catch. You allowed your heart to settle, as you stared at Dwight. 

He looked awful. In fact, he looked about as bad as you, with cuts scattered across his face, deep slashes marring his torso and his clothes hopelessly splattered by blood. And most of it was even his. You couldn’t help but feel bad as you watched Dwight clutch his bleeding side and suck in pained whimpers, eyes crinkled slightly with tears.

So carefully, you leaned over him, and began to tend to his injuries; gauze clenched in your hand, wrapping it tight around his wounds but keeping your eyes trained directly on the basement shack. A part of you screamed that this was a waste of time, that you were going to get yourself killed. A larger part drowned that part out, with the rationalization that ‘he needs my help’. 

Dwight continued to groan, attempting to smother the sounds like you’d showed him and the others, but it wasn’t working. He was too scared, and in too much pain, and you bit the inside of your own cheek to try and stop yourself from comforting him.

It didn’t work. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” you whispered, an empty platitude, a false reassurance, “you’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

The words just tumbled out. You didn’t mean to say them, but they just kept coming- comforts that didn’t mean anything, promises you couldn’t keep, as you quietly reassured, “you’ll be fine, you’ll be okay.”

Maybe it was because you were scared too. Terrified, actually. Meg was in the basement, and Claudette had already been sacrificed. There were only two generators done, and yet, the Trapper was unrelenting. His traps were extra deadly this round- disarming them would maim, and they seemed to open on their own. It was hopeless. You wouldn’t survive, and Dwight wouldn’t survive, and you knew this. You knew this, but you kept rambling, kept soothing to stifle his cries of pain.

”You’re going to be okay.”

The gauze was tied off, the process finished. As you leaned away, your own injuries came back to your mind, of the wound still festering on your chest and the way your head throbbed. Your wince must have given you away.

Dwight stepped forward to help you. You stepped back. And back. The dirt crunched under your feet, like bones in your mouth, but you just kept stepping back.

You’d promised him he would be okay. You’d lied when you said them, but now you didn’t want to take the words back. You knew how he could survive. 

You knew.

As you kept stepping back, his face contorted, and you knew then that he knew too.

Dwight reached out anyway. He was stricken, and looked as hopeless as you felt. He didn’t try to stop you though. It was easier this way.

In the distance, Meg gave one final, shattering cry, cut off in the middle, as the Entity descended and snatched her whole. Your eyes were still trained on the shack, and you knew that the Trapper was there. 

You didn’t turn back to look at Dwight as you ran towards the shack. If you did, you’d want to stop, and you’d want to tell him more things. More half lies. That you wouldn’t let the Killer hurt him, that he was going to be okay, that you’d both get out of here one day and be happy.

The doorway to the basement loomed, the gate of a cemetery. Claudette’s blood still stained the side of the stairwell. You sucked in a breath, before grabbing a fistful of your shirt, and marching forward. A small stream of blood began to trickle down your face, making your mouth taste of copper. Like fear.

The basement smelled of a hundred different things. It smelled like rotting bodies, of freshly slain corpses, of leaves in the fall and of a sunset covered by clouds. The Trapper stood at the bottom, making a slight movement that spoke of surprise. It was quickly smothered by action, as he stomped forward- and you couldn’t help the small noise of fear, as you stepped back a few steps and reminded yourself that you’d chosen this. The fact that you chose it should’ve made it easier. But the searing sensation of that rusty cleaver tearing across your torso wasn’t any gentler than it was before, nor was the pain any less. But, your scream was quieter- not because it was any less painful, but because you didn’t want Dwight to... hear. Or know. 

You were close enough to the basement that the Trapper didn’t bother heaving you up on his shoulder. Instead, he took your leg and yanked, dragging you the rest of the way. The blood left a stark trail against the wood. 

This was always the worst part.

Up you went, the hook piercing your shoulder, and this time you couldn’t stop the scream that left you- blood curdling and a testament to all the pain that you’d been bottling up. It never got any better. It was always the same, this terrible feeling, and that nausea that settled around the edges as you dangled there. 

The Trapper was watching. But not for long. Soon, he’d leave, and he’d go to find Dwight. If you weren’t fast, it would only be a matter of time until he was caught.

So, you fruitlessly struggled on the hook, feeling the Entity draw closer and closer, and then all at once it descended on you. All claws and sharp edges and horrible, terrible, emptiness. You instinctively grabbed at the one approaching your chest, fending it off, and that darkness crept along the edges of your vision. Despair. You loosened your grip, and stared directly at the Trapper, funneling all of your hatred and rage into your eyes as you stared at him one last time.

Slip, went your hands. The claws- or spikes, but it didn’t really matter, did it?- reeled back, and then-

An all encompassing pain.

The scream that your body was hollow, snapping like a bone halfway through and leaving a desolate silence. Up, the last vestiges of your consciousness, and then that horrible blackness and everything was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

You woke up with a start. You always did, when you’d died- like you’d been shoved into a pool of icy water, or like you’d been falling in a dream and woke right before hitting the ground. And just like always, you drew your body inwards, into a ball, as your mind raced to try and figure out where you were and what had happened, defensively making yourself as small as possible. 

It came back in a blink. It always did. The memory of the spikes, this time, made you unconsciously cup your hands against your chest. It took two blinks for you to loosen yourself again, uncurling, and the other Survivors around you politely pretended not to notice what had happened. 

For once, you didn’t care. Instead, you shot up, looking around. Where was...

Where was Dwight? 

You had to know if he’d gotten out. You had to. You passed by Claudette, and Meg, and a handful of other Survivors as you searched the relatively small area of the camp. What if he was still there? What if you’d just prolonged the inevitable, and you’d truly lied to him, and-

Someone called your name.

“Jake!”

You spun around, quicker than usual, and it was only when you were already running towards him that it registered that it was Dwight. 

Dwight, with a smile on his face, and a toolbox in hand. He must’ve found it before he escaped.

And he had escaped. 

You’d kept your promise. He’d been alright, he was okay, he was fine. You couldn’t help yourself from hugging him, wrapping your aching arms around him and holding him tight, giving a little wheezy laugh that was made of anxious relief. He hugged back. People survived all the time, sure, but this time felt more important.

This time, it gave you a little hope. That maybe you could keep your other promises too. That maybe, one day, you’d both get out of this hell and you’d both be happy.

You hoped.


End file.
